


Marked Insight

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Masochism, Post-Episode 148, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 08:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: “How do I become stronger?” It wasn’t what Jon was meant to ask, but it was what he wanted to know. What he needed to know. “The statements, they’re not enough anymore. But you must feed somehow, and I don’t think you’re running around, I don’t know, stealing people’s memories? Whatever it is you do. So you must know a way to—to amplify it. To extract more from them.”“I do,” Elias said, and Jon felt something like a relief. A relief quickly replaced by fear, as Elias pulled away to finally open the box, revealing a set of wicked looking needles, nestled between crimson velvet folds.





	Marked Insight

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kinkmeme prompt: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=28260#cmt28260

Hunger was a powerful motivator. 

Part of Jon still recoiled from the thought, the idea that he’d fallen so far, so fast. But the shaking in his hands couldn’t be stopped by food or drink. Even smoking didn’t help, the high he’d once craved now mere ash on his tongue. So great was the need he’d almost broken on his way here, stalking the path of a man growing vines in his organs, twisting and pulsing with love. Fresh now, and dead soon. What did it matter if Jon had his fill, while he lasted? But he felt the weight of Basira’s threats. She probably wouldn’t kill him. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find other means to restrain him.

What Jon needed was a solution, a way to make the written statements stronger, to amplify the few oral statements he could take without consequence, from the monsters Basira cared for even less than him. He almost asked her, but no. She thought he should resist, would likely see it as a crutch. There was only one person who could help him.

And if he fed, in the end, well, Basira wouldn’t be mad, would she? None of them could blame him. A deserving victim, and if he told Jon more, then wasn’t that for the best?

An eye for an eye. And they both had eyes to spare.

* * *

It wasn’t visiting hours when he arrived at the prison. But if Elias was receiving special treatment, it hardly mattered. If he refused Jon’s visit, then Jon would just have to find another way in. And if he took someone’s statement in the process, well, he’d make sure to target the guard who’d sacrificed his colleague to escape the tangled corridors of a lonely night shift. And who did not regret his actions to this day. Perhaps he’d regret it more, when he relived it in his dreams. Maybe be moved to pity, to help the colleague’s young daughter pay for uni. Or maybe he’d simply understand better how close he came to being lost forever. How close he might still come. Whatever the outcome, he was hardly an innocent. 

Once the man had finished, eyes wet and dazed, he brought Jon to Elias. Said he’d been expected, but that he’d been told to stall. Unnecessary, he could almost hear Basira saying. You didn’t have to do that. But he did. To face Elias, he needed to be strong. He needed to be stronger. 

He needed to be ready. 

As the door closed behind him, his eyes locked on Elias, sitting rather casually on the room’s sole chair. Not dressed in prison clothes, because of course he wasn’t, but instead in a simple white shirt and pressed grey trousers, dark leather shoes polished until they shone. Hardly more casual than he’d been in the Institute, and even though Jon had a plan, knew what he needed, he couldn’t help but comment on it.

“I see prison’s been treating you well.” He remained where he was by the door, scanning the rest of the room, noting the padded table with a sense of disquiet, and the box on a small table next to it. Both box and table looked out of place, the dark wooden legs of the table elegantly curved, the box ornately carved and covered in gold leaf, worn away in places to expose ruddy splotches and lines. Jon shivered as he continued to stare at it, the knowledge of what it was tickling at the edge of his mind. If he only pushed a bit more, he might yet have it, might understand the sharp pricking at the corners of his vision.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He tried to turn, to snarl at Elias, but his other hand fell on the opposite shoulder, leaving Jon struggling impotently as he was propelled towards the table. Craning his neck, he managed to catch a glimpse of Elias’s smile. Playing into his hands again, and yet wasn’t that why he’d come here? To know what Elias knew. Maybe it was best to play along, just this once. 

Elias’s hands slid down his back, outlining the arc of his shoulder blades, before grasping his waist, fingers pressing exactly where Jon knew he was missing a rib on each side. His breath was hot on Jon’s neck, lips brushing his ear when he finally spoke.

“It seems you’ve lost something since we last spoke.” 

Jon pulled weakly against his grasp, hating how off-balance he felt. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have if you’d told me more. Given me any guidance whatsoever, really. Instead of just leaving me to, to—"

He yelped as teeth dug into the base of his neck, struggling for a moment before sagging against Elias as he let go, worrying the spot with lips and tongue.

“What was that?” Jon said, hating how breathless he sounded.

“A mark of my own,” Elias replied, sending Jon stumbling towards the table with a gentle push. “The first of many.” 

“You are not biting me again,” Jon said, struggling for any sort of sanity, for a protest he could make that would hold any weight. A boundary he could push up back between them, even as his nerves sparked and his skin felt stretched and tight. Like something inside him was pushing at the seams, yearning to be closer to Elias, to know him, to see him, in a way no one else ever had. 

A thought Elias seemed to hear, as his hands stilled above the box, not opening it but instead turning back to Jon, smiling at him, looking so pleased, so proud Jon felt weak, and hated that he did. Elias strode back across the gap, pressing Jon against the padded table, then bringing their lips together.

Jon’s hands went to the table, digging into the thick padding, so hard he thought he might leave marks of his own behind. But he didn’t pull away from Elias. He didn’t think he could. Not even sure he wanted to, as Elias raised a hand to gentle cradle Jon’s head, fingers threading through his hair, fingers rubbing circles into the base of his skull. Under Elias’s touch, Jon’s lips parted, letting Elias slip his tongue in, hot and hinting at a deeper hunger. Lips and tongue could give Jon what he wanted, feed and nourish him, but not like this silent and occupied with things other than words. But still, he remained, as Elias pressed their foreheads together, and placed his free hand over one of Jon’s.

“I’m so proud of you. You’ve progressed far beyond what I thought possible in such a short time.” The hand cupping Jon’s head traced the length of his neck, pulling away briefly before Elias brought it back to run his knuckles along Jon’s cheek.

Jon leaned into the touch despite himself. Trying not to think of what Basira would say, what Melanie would think, worst of all Daisy, who’d fought and won where Jon now failed. But he didn’t care. His eyes opened to stare at Elias, that frisson of connection sparking between them. And then, finally, he asked. 

“How do I become stronger?” It wasn’t what Jon was meant to ask, but it was what he wanted to know. What he needed to know. “The statements, they’re not enough anymore. But you must feed somehow, and I don’t think you’re running around, I don’t know, stealing people’s memories? Whatever it is you do. So you must know a way to—to amplify it. To extract more from them.”

“I do,” Elias said, and Jon felt something like a relief. A relief quickly replaced by fear, as Elias pulled away to finally open the box, revealing a set of wicked looking needles, nestled between crimson velvet folds.

“I think I prefer the biting.” Jon took a step back from the table, looking to the still locked door. Would they open it, if he asked? They should, rather than leaving him locked up with a monster. Or maybe they wouldn’t see it that way. Better to let them tear each other apart, and clean up the scraps. You didn’t save one monster from another. 

“We can get back to that later.”

Jon flushed, but pushed onwards, hovering halfway between the door and the table. “What exactly are those supposed to be for?”

Elias’s lips twitched, and Jon scowled, the expression deepening as Elias failed to answer, instead nodding at the padded table. 

“Please, remove your clothes and lie down on your stomach.”

The command left Jon gaping, mind running over all the horrifying possibilities, and finding none he liked. “What? Absolutely not.” 

“Jon,” Elias said, leaving his box of torture implements where it was, and stepping towards Jon with an outstretched hand. “Do you trust me?” 

“What?” No. The answer had to be no, should be no. Elias was a murderer, and even if they both were monsters, at least Jon hadn’t killed anyone. But even as he thought it, he hesitated. Damning them to a lifetime of nightmares, was that so much better? A question Basira might’ve asked, were she here. A question she might still ask, if she found out he’d gone.

But Jon was alone.

“Why should I?” Jon said. Trying to sound skeptical, knowing he sounded anything but. 

“Because,” Elias said, taking another step, until somehow Jon’s hand was between his, warm and safe and held. “I know you, in a way no one else ever will.” 

The protest he knew he should make died on his lips, his heart jumping as Elias brought Jon’s hand to his lips. No biting this time, just the soft brush of skin, the brief caress of his tongue, sending Jon shivering, and needing to find out what else Elias would do. Trusting that whatever it was, it would bring Jon closer to knowing. To understanding. 

Still, he hesitated, his fingers knotting in the hem of his shirt, worrying the worn cotton, pushing a thumb through the hole he’d meant to mend. Elias pulled Jon’s hands away, tugging up the shirt as Jon lifted his arms over his head, leaving him shivering, scarred skin exposed, as Elias knelt to remove to his shoes. 

Jon was almost surprised how businesslike he was, barely lingering as he removed Jon’s shoes, his trousers, his underwear, folding each item carefully before setting it aside. 

“No biting?” Jon couldn’t help but remark, swaying slightly and grasping Elias’s shoulder to keep his balance. 

“If you insist,” Elias replied with sly smile, wrapping one hand around Jon’s knee, tugging him closer to nip at the sensitive skin at the back. A sensation Jon barely had time to process before Elias stood, placing a hand on the small of Jon’s back and again pushing him towards the padded table.

“Will it hurt?” Jon asked as he climbed onto the table. 

A stupid question, but Elias answered it indulgently enough, smoothing a hand over Jon’s back even as he pressed Jon facedown against the cushioned surface. “Yes. But I think you’ll mind it less than you expect.” 

He laughed at that, an annoying enough response Jon pushed himself up, or would have, if Elias hadn’t strapped his wrist to the surface, almost flush with his side. 

“What are you doing?” Jon said, unable to keep the rising panic from his voice.

“Trust me.” Elias fastened his other wrist to the table, before moving to his ankles, and doing the same to them. Then a strap over his shoulders, and finally, a thick strap across his arse, leaving Jon unable to do more than squirm. 

“You just strapped me to a table naked.” He struggled again, to no avail. “And now you’re picking up a needle that almost certainly belongs in Artefact Storage.”

“I had it brought from there, yes.” Elias traced a finger over his back, lines and arcing circles interweaving into some sort of pattern Jon recognized but could not name.

“So,” Jon continued, ignoring the confirmation, “I really don’t know why you expect me to trust you.” Even though he’d agreed before, even though he knew he had no other real option. 

Jon bent his neck as best he could, in time to catch Elias leaning over him, to press a kiss to the base of his neck. “It’s funny. I used to find your complaints annoying.” He ran an overly affectionate hand through Jon’s hair, and Jon desperately tried not to think about what that might mean. “Now please, try not to move too much. Any errors could have...unforeseen side effects.”

“Oh, just brilliant.” 

Any further protest he might make was cut off as the needle dug into his back. Jon let out an involuntary whimper as Elias continued, each prick a bright point of pain, following the path his fingers had laid out. As they began to blur together, the pain melding into a constant ache, Jon let his eyes slip shut, reaching out, beginning to see the shape of it. 

“A circle,” he said. 

“To focus,” Elias said, dragging his finger over the arc he’d created and making Jon wriggle, grinding uncomfortably against the table. “To collect. Think of it as a reservoir, of sorts.” 

“And the written statements...”

“Will actually be of some use, yes. Each bit of knowledge, part of a greater whole.” He pressed his hand flat against Jon’s back, encompassing the area he clearly planned to mark. 

“So it’s a tattoo,” Jon said dubiously, shivering as Elias returned to his work. Adding another, tiny mark, each beading and collecting low in his gut, warm and sharp and heady.

“Something like that, yes. You are always worrying about seeming too old, aren’t you? Think of it as a chance to have the wild youth you managed to skip.” Another puncture, seemingly deeper, but perhaps that was simply Jon, falling into whatever nightmare, whatever dream this had become.

“Like you had?” He almost asked more, wondering if Elias would explain now how an academically mediocre pothead had become the man who stood over him now, crisp shirt still only barely stained by sweat, and not a hair out of place. But the pain distracted him, left him twitching and languid in turns, so all he could do was press his cheek against the warm leather and breathe. 

“Mm. Quite.” 

Another prick, harder this time, or maybe Jon was becoming more sensitive. His teeth dug into his lip, an iron tang flooding his mouth. 

“I don’t know why people do this,” he muttered. 

“Expression.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Elias set the needle aside, picking up another. “Beauty.” He swept a hand over Jon’s skin. “Some even enjoy the process.” The needle stabbed in to the right of Jon’s spine, making Jon buck against the table. 

“I don’t see why,” Jon said, though the protest sounded weak even to his own ears, as Elias continued to work his way upwards, outlining a channel in vivid green. Though how Jon knew this, he couldn’t say. But then, he rarely could these days. 

“Oh, I think you do.” 

Jon yelped as Elias gave his arse a light slap before continuing, highlighting a feeling Jon had been desperately ignoring. Already half-hard, and only getting harder as Elias continued to work, the pain setting not just the nerves of his back alight, but in his cock as well, only exacerbated further by his involuntary squirming. 

“Elias, please.” Stop. Keep going. He wasn’t certain anymore which he wanted, but that was the point, wasn’t it? That he needed guidance. And maybe this wasn’t what he would’ve chosen. Or maybe it was. 

Elias didn’t stop, of course, only pausing for a moment to smooth a hand over Jon’s hair, to kiss his hot cheek, before continuing the mark the path. Stopping only at the strap across Jon’s shoulders, slipping a finger under for a moment, before letting it slap back into place. The sudden sting again sent Jon wriggling, grinding his now fully hard cock against the leather, making him groan.

“Oh, Jon. You’re doing wonderfully.” His hand slid over Jon’s shoulders, releasing the strap and holding Jon still with a palm against his shoulder blade, cradling and caging in one movement. “I need you to hold still for me. Can you do that?”

“Fine.” Though he was aiming for reluctant, he thought he edged closer to desperate than he’d like. As usual, Elias had played him like a fiddle. And worst of all, Jon wasn’t truly upset. 

As Elias finished the final length to the base of his neck, and began working his way back down, Jon was forced to admit that it was worse than that. Not only was he not upset, he was content, in a way he hadn’t been in so long. Safe and secure under Elias’s hands, following his careful direction. 

“That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Direct? Guide?” 

Again, Elias traced the design, sending a cascade of electricity across his skin. Fingernails dragging over the sensitive punctures, the damp skin between, all collecting and channeling, suffusing his body with warmth and need. A need that continued right to his cock. 

“Elias.” Jon moaned, grinding against the table, increasingly slick with sweat. Better, but still not enough. “Please.”

“Let go,” Elias said, finishing the downward line. 

“No.” Somehow Jon knew, deep behind his eyes, an ache that wouldn’t be fulfilled. “Not yet.”

Elias laughed delightedly, cupping his arse fondly all and all too proprietarily, pressing a kiss there while ignoring Jon’s muttered protest. “You really are a marvel.” 

Again, Elias switched the needle, and began to pick out the curve of the circle again, the point of collection. Everything seemed to blur and sharpen, the room fading around him only bringing the needle into greater focus, and sending corresponding sparks to his cock, slick with sweat and precome against the leather. Some distant part of Jon was embarrassed, horrified at what Elias had done with him. But most of him was happy to drown, secure in the knowledge that Elias would wait for him, would watch him, would catch him with steady hands. Once Jon was complete. Once they both were.

He reached the bottom of the circle, just above Jon’s arse, placing his free hand on it in a way that might have simply been supportive, but felt possessive. But Jon found he no longer minded. That he perhaps even wanted Elias to feel this way, to want to own Jon, to possess him. For them both to be taken in turn by the Eye, that watched them both, now and always. 

The circle was almost closed, and Elias had slowed his progress. Jon tried to protest, to urge him to hurry up, but the only thing that emerged from his mouth was a wordless moan. 

“Soon,” Elias said, fingers digging in, not quite concealing the way his own hand trembled, just for a moment. “Just a little longer.” 

Jon found himself nodding, cheek pressed hard against the leather, hips held firm. If he moved, it would all be over, and it couldn’t be over. Not yet. Not before he was ready. Each prick now sent a wave of sensation to his cock, each almost enough to tip him over the edge. That was why Elias was going to slowly, he realized. He hated it, and hated how grateful he was for it, sucking in breath after shaky breath. 

“Now, Jon,” Elias said, then shoved all the way into his skin, directly into his spine.

What followed should have been excruciating, was excruciating, but on some distant level Jon could barely comprehend, his entire focus instead on the release, the low ache of pleasure as the circle filled, and he came, squirming against the table with Elias’s hands on his shoulders, his lips pressed again to the base of his neck. Channeling into Elias something he only briefly saw, and barely understood. But knew he would comprehend fully, in time. 

But for now, it fed him, filled him, leaving him boneless and relaxed on the table as Elias carefully removed his bindings, and helped Jon stand. He would’ve fallen, had Elias not slid a hand under his knees, lifting him in his arms and carrying over to the chair. Leaving Jon cradled in his arms, face buried in the crook of Elias’s neck as his breath slowed, and the reality of it all set in.

“I won’t be able to explain this to Basira or the others,” Jon mumbled against his neck, tasting salt on his tongue. Disgusting, but he was too tired, too content to care.

“I’d urge you not to explain it at all. I feel it’s best to keep unnecessary details to a minimum. What matters now is that you should be able to gain sufficient sustenance from the written statements, and thus lessen her concern.” He ran gentle fingers over Jon’s sweat damp hair, and Jon tried to lean into the touch, despite his exhaustion.

“Yes, you would say that.” It was the same thing Elias had done to him, concealing information. Was doing, even now. And yet for once, Jon wasn’t angry. He felt no urge to fight it.

Soon, Elias would let him know, and would know him. In a way no one else could. 

“Yes.” 

Jon lifted his head in surprise, to find Elias smiling, answering the question he hadn’t asked, the hope he hadn’t dared to voice, the certainly only strengthened as Elias matched it. His face was warm with pride, and something else Jon couldn’t quite place. When he placed a finger under Jon’s chin, lifting it to press their lips together, Jon gladly accepted his guidance. 

He knew what he was meant to do. And what he was meant to be.


End file.
